


Judas

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Robin Hood BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy loses something valuable, and Robin loses his clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judas

_ **FIC: Judas (Guy/Robin)** _

Title: Judas  
Author: Unsentimental Fool  
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC  
Pairing: Guy/Robin  
Rating: 15  
Word Count: 2587  
Summary: Guy loses something valuable, and Robin loses his clothes.

 

The oak trees were widely spaced in this part of Sherwood. Guy spurred the huge black horse again and the beast surged forward, finally catching up with the man running ahead of him.

Gisborne's sword was already drawn. He sung it wide, leaning precariously off the saddle, and struck his quarry over the back of the head with the hilt. The man fell to the ground.

Off balance, Guy couldn't control the horse as it galloped onwards. An icy ditch opened beneath the front hooves and the horse slid sideways. Guy fell with it, still hanging out of the saddle, dropping the sword, trying to pull his right leg from the stirrups. Too late; it crashed to the ground with his leg underneath, his body hurled into the frosted leaf litter.

The horse screamed and staggered upward, on three legs. Guy could see the broken foreleg. He cursed, furious, for a moment unaware of his own injuries. Then the pain started. The horse had landed on his twisted ankle and now it was broken too. Guy gritted his teeth

First things first. He drew his dagger, whistled for the horse's attention and put poor Judas out of his misery. For a moment he sat with the animal's head in his lap, stroking the dark mane, brushing out the tiny crystals of ice. Four years he'd had this horse. Four years of training, of hours spent in the paddock, and Judas had gone from being a wild yearling to one that he considered the best horse in Nottingham. All that time wasted now. Another thing lost, to lay at Hood's door.

He unbuckled Judas' bridle. Hood was next. This had been an unexpected encounter; the outlaws holding up a traveller as he and his men rode the other way towards the castle. They'd all scattered and run as he'd galloped up, but he'd only been interested in catching their leader, dodging between the trees. The chase had taken an hour or more; the terrain alternately opening up for the horseman and closing in to help the man on foot. But Hood had tired faster than the horse.

Guy left the saddle bag for the moment. He sheathed his sword unbelted it and stood carefully, using it as a crutch. The pain didn't stop but he could hobble with care. He looped the bridle around his neck and carefully started back the way he'd come.

Hood was lying face down. Guy stopped and watched him for a couple of minutes, but he didn't move. Dead, or unconscious. Gisborne really hoped he was just unconscious. Guy's horse was dead, his ankle broken and right now he needed a live enemy to play with.

Guy approached, as quietly as he could, using the makeshift crutch. The body didn't move. He sat down by the man, leg extended, pulled out sword and dagger from Hood's belt and cast them aside. Only then did he check the man for signs of life. Hood's eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

Guy cut the bridle into lengths and tied Robin's hands and feet, vindictively pulling the supple leather tight into the flesh. Then he sat back and wondered what to do next.

He didn't know this part of the forest- no roads ran through it, no villages in clearings. Injured, without the horse, he had no immediate ideas as to how to get back to the distant road. If he called out, he was more likely to get the attention of the outlaws than of his own men.

It was a typical late winter's day; frost still on the ground as the afternoon went on. It would freeze again tonight- not good weather to spend a night in the forest.

Nothing for it though. He needed a fire, and shelter. There was water in the ditch where Judas had fallen. He searched Robin's clothing, found tinder but barely any kindling. Everything around was cold and damp. It looked like Guy would have to hobble back to the dead horse to get his own pack.

Guy looked down again at the fair haired man in front of him. The urge to hurt him flowed over him. Why wouldn't Hood wake up, give him some outlet for his anger? He couldn't even kick the guy at the moment.

A thought struck him. He untied Robin's hands, started to strip the jacket from him. That he put aside; warm clothing would be welcome tonight. Then he started in with his knife on the woolen underclothing. Dry, warm, it would do well for firelighting.

Robin looked different, half naked and unconscious. In repose, his face lost that customary animation, looked calm, almost solemn. Guy placed a hand on his chest, checking his breathing; still fast, still steady. Curious, he ran his hand over the sparsely haired chest, prodded the stomach muscles. He'd never touched another man like this before; so much harder than women's bodies. Some men liked this, he knew. For a moment he closed his eyes, imagined that he was a lover touching, but he couldn't forget that this particular body belonged to Hood. He'd have to be a very different man to find that appealing. Guy bound Robin's hands in front of him again.

Guy's ankle was still shooting pains up his leg. It should really be bound up; he looked down at Robin's breeches.

A few minutes later and Hood was naked, face up on the frosty ground. Guy bound up his ankle with the rest of Robin's undergarments, ripped into strips. The jerkin and breeches he put on one side for the moment. Let Hood wake to cold nakedness. Clothes would be another way of emphasising how much Hood had lost.

Robin showed no signs of recovery. Guy started a small fire next to the body, stacked up enough dead wood to dry out by the fire to keep him going through the night. Decided that he wasn't up to building a shelter, and it looked like a dry if cold night. Then, with nothing better to do, he went back to watching Hood.

He'd seen no shortage of naked men; he'd been a soldier, a master of arms. In training as a squire he'd wrestled naked often enough. There was something different about this vulnerability of his enemy that fascinated him.

Not an ounce of spare flesh; Hood was lean and muscular. Scratches and bruises; some from the chase today, older ones turning from purple to brown. Scars along his arms and legs. And that long healed scar along his side. Guy reached out, ran a finger along it. He'd been so close to killing Locksley that day.

His hand finished on Robin's thigh, next to that nest of hair and its contents. The only bit of Hood that seemed not built for fighting. Guy pulled his hand away, resisting the urge to look round for onlookers.

"What are you doing?" The voice was weak but steady.

Guy glared at Hood's face. " Admiring my handiwork."

"Where are my clothes?" Hood pulled himself up on his elbows, grimacing. "What are you up to, Gisborne?" He looked up through the trees. "Shouldn't we be in Nottingham by now?"

"My horse" Guy said, with clenched teeth, "Is dead."

An expression he couldn't read went across Robin's face. "Judas?"

Guy nodded.

"Oh, I''m sorry."

Guy looked at him, unbelieving. "Why would you be sorry? Why do you even know about my horse?"

Robin shrugged. "I know most things about you, Gisborne. And Judas was a hell of a fine horse. I had plans to take him from you, one day. " He grinned.

"You did." Gisborne didn't want to talk about Judas to Hood.

"So why aren't we walking to Nottingham. " Robin was insistent. It was hardly going to be a secret for long. Guy gestured down at his leg. "The horse fell on my ankle."

"That, I'm not sorry about." Robin pulled himself up to a sitting position. "And my clothes?"

"I found them useful. You can damn well freeze."

Hood looked round the small campsite, noting his jacket and breeches on the other side of the fire, then back to Guy.

"Fire or not, you'll have no live prisoner for the Sheriff come morning."

"I haven't yet decided that I want one." Guy lied. Robin raised his eyebrows, said nothing.

The afternoon wore on. There was no food. Guy suspected Robin could have made some suggestions, but the man had gone quiet. Guy himself was working out what he was going to do next. He had been intending to mess Robin up a bit, but it was just too cold. Better wait till they were back in the warm dungeons.

Sunset, and the air temperature dropped. Sitting next to the fire, Robin had started to shiver. Guy was sitting with his leg stretched out on the other side of the fire. He had given up trying not to watch Robin and his eyes were fixed on the scar that he'd made, while his thoughts were miles away.

For the first time in a couple of hours, Hood spoke.

"Are you waiting for me to beg for my clothes?" His voice was shaking with the cold.

"Are you going to?" Guy asked, genuinely curious.

"Way I see it, " Robin's voice was calm underneath the shivers. "I live through the night, I get taken to Nottingham, tortured a bit, end up on the gallows. Not much to live for. Why should I bother?"

"Your gang might rescue you." Guy had been thinking about that rather a lot over the last few hours. He had been tempted to extinguish the fire altogether, but it was so damn cold.

"They might." Robin's voice gave nothing away. Guy's worries crystallised sharply. This was the outlaws' forest, and they would be out looking for their leader. Why had he ever thought a fire was a good idea?

He stamped on the flames until they went out in a plume of betraying hot smoke.

"With no fire it's your call." Hood looked him straight in the face. "Either give me my clothes now or you have a dead prisoner long before morning."

Gisborne hated ultimatums. He chucked the jacket and breeches at Robin. They fell on the floor next the man, who couldn't reach them with his bound hands.

"For God's sake!" Gisborne stood up, using the sword as a crutch again, and hobbled around the remains of the fire.

"You'll need to untie me." Robin held his bound hands up; and Guy could see blood where cold wrists had swollen around the bridle leather.

"I won't." He pulled the jerkin over Robin's head, bound hands inside it, pulled the hood up for added warmth. The breeches he just draped over Robin's legs. Then he hobbled back to his side of the ashes. It was going to be a cold night.

The concerns about outlaws and the cold conspired to keep him awake for some hours. The night was clear, with a full moon, and he could watch his captive snoring gently in the moonlight. The breeches had fallen off and his legs were bare; they must have been frozen. But Hood was surviving. Eventually Guy fell asleep.

He woke up to the warm breath in his face. Instinctively he kept his eyes closed, his breathing even.

Hands fumbled at his belt, drew his dagger. Hell! He poised to leap away, remembered his broken ankle. He brought his hands up to seize the hands at his belt.

For a moment he thought they were something else, they were so cold. It was easy to wrest the dagger from them, bound as they still were, hold it to a cold, cold throat.

Hood fell to the ground away from the dagger at his throat. Robin looked dreadful. He'd shed the jerkin, presumably so that he could use his hands, and was stark naked, and so cold that he no longer shivered. There was something in his eyes that Gisborne had never seen before- resignation. That had been his last throw and he had failed.

Gisborne raged inwardly at himself- that had been too close. Why hadn't he tied the man to a tree? Admittedly Hood might had just died quietly that way. He ignored the figure next to him as he struggled up onto his good leg and relit the fire with some difficulty. Then he turned back to the white and silver body lying still. Looked like if he wanted Hood hung in public, then he'd have to do something about keeping him alive now.

The touch was like touching clay. Guy steeled himself, kneeled down, started rubbing life back into the frozen arms. Untied the bound hands, listened to the half scream as blood rushed back. Pulled the jerkin on properly, added his own cloak.

The activity was warming him as well. He turned to the lower half, rubbed feet, ankles, calves and thighs. Again bindings were cut, to gasps from Robin. This man wasn't running anywhere for the rest of the night.

All over, Guy had rubbed; it had taken half an hour, but Robin's skin started to feel human again. Not just human; the touch felt warm, good. Guy didn't want to stop, pull away back into the cold. He ought to put those leggings back on now. Robin hadn't spoken.

Guy was smoothing his hands over warm thighs, his hands jumping away from any contact with the tangle of hair between legs slightly spread. In the moonlight, where he definitely wasn't looking, something grew silver.

"Don't stop there." Robin's voice,amused, enough to put his back up, and a hand slid down, caught his by the wrist, pushed it onto something smooth and hard, and warm. His wrist was held hard, he couldn't pull away. He stretched out his fingers, wrapped them around the heat. Spat in his other hand, wrapped that higher up, started to move, squeeze; familiar movements on an unfamiliar object.

He could hear Robin's breath change, slight gasps. He knew what it must feel like; he moved faster, trying to hurt, to make Locksley lose control.

A hand reached out, touching his groin, his erection under his leggings. He pulled a hand away from Robin to hit it away, bent down to Hood, furious,

"Do that again and I'll cut your damn hand off." No response, just that uneven breath, getting faster.

Now. He judged, based on his own experience. Now would hurt if it stopped. He pulled his hands away, captured Locksley's hands in his as they moved in to replace him. Beside him, Hood's body was arching.

The leather was by his side. He looped it, fast and accurate, over Hood's hands. Now he only needed one hand to keep the man under control.

He returned the other hand to brush Hood's cock, lightly, rewarded by a stifled groan.

"Now are you going to beg?" he fought to keep his voice calm.

Curses from beneath him, as his hand flickered lightly over, then eventually, "Damn you, Guy, yes. I'm begging."

This time he let everything he felt into his voice. "Judas is dead, you bastard. Tomorrow you hang. "

He tied Robin's feet, ignoring the breeches still on the ground, the man's cock straining upwards, the answering fire in his groin. Wrenched Hood's bound arms up over his head, tied them to a branch. Gagged him with a strip of the leggings.

Then he sat by the fire to wait for morning,


End file.
